


The Anatomy of Forever

by Umbrella_ella



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: BELLE DOESN'T DIE, F/M, im in denial mkay, no she lives FOREVER, okay so this is smut because mrs-stiltskin said something and i couldn't NOT write this, shhhhhh, this felt so much longer when i was writing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbrella_ella/pseuds/Umbrella_ella
Summary: "I could remember how you look right now, forever."Rumple had crossed the chasm yawning before them then, soft footfalls leading him to her, and then, and then he’d dropped to his knees, and here he was, knelt in front her, fingers tracing idle patterns on the skirt, tracing through dust motes fallen from books long unread, and his eyes are adoring, unfailingly kind, and aflame with desire and need. Belle breathes deeply at the thought that he wants her, that he needs her still, as much as she needs him._Set during Beauty, supposing that Gideon hadn't interrupted.





	The Anatomy of Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mrs_Stiltskin (Lady_Belles_Teacup)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Belles_Teacup/gifts).



Belle trembles beneath his fingertips, her lips parting in askance, and the way he stares at her is enough to make her understand.

_I could remember how you look right now forever._

Rumple had crossed the chasm yawning before them then, soft footfalls leading him to her, and then, and then he’d dropped to his knees, and here he was, knelt in front her, fingers tracing idle patterns on the skirt, tracing through dust motes fallen from books long unread, and his eyes are adoring, unfailingly kind, and aflame with desire and need. Belle breathes deeply at the thought that he wants her, that he needs her still, as much as she needs him.

“I’m afraid, Belle,” The moment, hot and blistering, gives way to a teary confession, and if she were beholden to answer, she might lie, might bend down and seal his mouth with hers, swallow his worries and his budding hope, but she is not a liar, so she says the only thing she can. She leans forward, and his breaths are warm and shallow, bursting across her lips like stars, electrifying and familiar all at once.

“I am, too,” Belle whispers in the quiet, still air, and it’s as much a confession to him as it is an admittance to herself, but even as his fingers clutch at her skirts, bunching the fabric with white knuckles, he laughs out a breath, finishing her thought for her.

“Bravery will follow, hm?”

Belle smiles then, and thinks she might just like to sink into the warmth of his arms for the rest of her life, “Yes, my love, but for now,” she leaves the rest of her words on his lips, etching her promises and vows onto his mouth, tasting him like it’s the first time and the last time all at once.

Rumple’s hands curl beneath the heavy fabrics, seeking out porcelain skin, unblemished and unmarked by time, fingers dotting out lines and patterns, saying more than he has the courage to voice, and she loves him for it. He’s warm, the nape of his neck hot beneath her hand as she pulls him in, her remaining hand tugging at his short hair as she deepens the kiss. He tastes the same as he always has, though her need for him spears through her, sharper than usual and maybe it’s the tang of bitter fear that curls on her tongue, but she presses deeper, and he opens to her, his arms warm around her and his mouth mapping hers. When he breaks away, his hands still tracing the skin beneath her skirt and his eyes blazing a path straight through her dress, he speaks, so quietly, as if these words should be marked on her skin somewhere, and they are, have always been, since that fateful day so long ago when she’d been brave, but he says them anyway.

“I love you, Gods, I love you, Belle.”

She mumbles it back against his skin.

He lunges forward then, and heat roils in her belly and he kisses her like he’s burning up, and she too blisters with want, and the air in her lungs leaves her weightless and dizzy at the same time.

She doesn’t want to say anything else, not now, not with the way her core throbs in time with the heartbeat that thunders beneath his doublet, and she fumbles at the buttons, letting out a hum that is decidedly less firm than she’d meant as he tugs her hands away.

“No, _please,_ ” Belle swallows as he pulls away, his eyes blown wide, his words hanging heavily in the thick heat surrounding them, “let me.”

Belle gasps out, a mewl of encouragement as she twitches. His fingers have wandered upwards, tracing out a path over her smallclothes, thumbing the lace at her core. Belle is vaguely aware of the way her fingers press entirely too hard into his neck, but she can’t quite care, and in the half light of the great hall, the table spread out before them, so like the table in the Dark Castle, she sees him hiss, his teeth sharp and catching his bottom lip, worrying it red, and she dips in low, eager to catch his lips between hers instead. Belle bruises his mouth with kisses and teeth and want and need and everything in between and sighs out as he pushes at her skirts, hands fumbling and needy. His fingers have always been fascinating to her, first for their talent at weaving gold, and then magic, and now, she feels like gold, like magic, because he seeks her out, finds her core, finds the place where she drips with need of him, and weaves magic there just as easily. Long and talented, they are, nimble, eager to draw her need from her, and Rumple is just as talented with his mouth, pressing it here, to her neck and sucking, or there, to her collarbone, biting out a path easily retraced. Belle cries out, desperate and full of desire, of love, as he kisses her one last time, harsh and rough and over far too soon.

Rumple’s tongue seeks her out, content to trace out the shape of her trembling thighs and press kisses here and there, tasting her, and his fingers spread her sex open, her thatch of neat curls dewy and wet, and she can smell herself, the way her scent seems to drip from her. He marks a map easily known to him, touching his tongue to each stretch mark on the insides of her thighs, reminding himself that she is hers and always will be, and she loves him for it, truly, and she urges him on with the press of her calf to his back. Rumple’s fingers dip to her entrance, painting her clit with her wetness, and presses his lips to the bud of her clit, neat kisses pulling breathless gasps from her and filling the grand hall with her sounds.

Rumple chuckles against her, and the vibration sends her skyward. Belle’s lips part, her breath puffing out small, short sighs that leave her gasping, and really, she can’t quite breathe, and she is barely aware of the way his free hand lingers on the buttons the front of her dress. In a moment filled with heady, swirling kisses, ones where she can taste herself on his breath, and she feels as though she could drink him in forever, his slick fingers make quick work of her bodice, peeling it away from her and lining her sweat-dewed skin with hot kisses, the tops of her breasts heaving from his attentions, puckers of reddened flesh beckoning him back to soothe them with his tongue. Rumple casts her top aside, intent upon seeing her wholly debauched, and Belle lets out a whimper at the loss of his heat against her. His fingers trail over her torso, tweaking the pink buds of her nipples and plucking at them. Belle lets out a cry as he closed his lips around one, seeking to give it the same, concentrated attentions as he had the bud between her legs only moments before. Belle feels the blister of heat roll through her, ripping a series of sighs from her lips, dripping like honey from her mouth, pouring out into the space between them, and she catches his chin beneath her shaking hand, beckoning his lips to hers, and it’s as though she might sip her own self from him, as though she might consume him whole as she tangles her tongue with his. She twines her trembling fingers into his hair and kisses him until she squirms with the feel of herself throbbing once more.

“Please, Rumple. I need you.” It’s pleading and feels odd here, in this thing between them, tender and sudden, but he puts her discomfort to rest with a burning kiss to her throat.

He returns to his task with glittering eyes, feral and something deep within her shakes, and perhaps she’s afraid of the way his eyes darken, or, she considers, as he spreads her open once more, perhaps she’s afraid of what she might demand of him. Rumple’s mouth works, eager to draw her pleasure out, and her fingers clutch at him as his forefinger seeks out her core, and she is wanting and blistering and hot and full of desire and she needs him so and— suddenly he’s there and of _course_ he is, he is _always_ there, just where she needs him, and his free tangles with hers, offering a single point of grounding in the vastness of this feeling, of the way he plays her so, of the way he draws sighs and trembles full of wanton need and love and she clutches his hand in hers, so hard it might break, but she’s beyond that now. There’s only Rumple, pumping in and out of her core with a determination that sends stars and heat thrilling up her spine. Belle feels as though she’s spinning apart, like she might fling apart, her soul rent from her body with a single cry and just one more nip of his teeth on her clit, and then— oh, _she does and she does and she does and she does_ , and it’s beautiful and wonderful and she trembles with the way his lips press open-mouthed kisses to her core. Belle sighs at the way he traces through her folds with his tongue, gentle and needy all at once is too much and not enough, and she feels the sting of tears budding at the corners of her eyes, and she’s sure she looks a mess, wanton and almost naked in a chair, her husband knelt between her legs.  

Belle trembles beneath his fingertips, and kisses Rumple then, because there are some things that words cannot say.


End file.
